


wanna go back (to that time again)

by feymoonie113



Series: minbin royalty au [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Gen, Kid Fic, Like Pre-Pre-Relationship, POV Lee Minho | Lee Know, Pre-Relationship, bc they are kids and this is their first meeting, that's right we got baby minbin origin story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feymoonie113/pseuds/feymoonie113
Summary: Don’t let go of your uncle’s hand. Don’t run off. Stay away from the royal guards.Those had been Minho’s mother's last instructions when he parted from their small cottage with his uncle, come to take him along to the festival in the palace celebrating the 8th birthday of the youngest royal, the beloved only son of the Seo family.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know & Seo Changbin, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Series: minbin royalty au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885219
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24





	wanna go back (to that time again)

**Author's Note:**

> hell yeah, 2 fics in 2 days!! enjoy this tale of how minho and changbin first met 😊
> 
>   
> also, thank you especially to mari for basically beta reading all of these fics and giving me the confidence to post them, ily <3

_ Don’t let go of your uncle’s hand. Don’t run off. Stay away from the royal guards. _

Those had been Minho’s mother's last instructions when he parted from their small cottage with his uncle, come to take him along to the festival in the palace celebrating the 8th birthday of the youngest royal, the beloved only son of the Seo family. 

For a child accustomed to fending for himself in the sprawling countryside where his family resided on their modest farm, often exploring the edges of their land and tending to the farm animals and wandering cats on his own, the warning had seemed ridiculous. After all, he was almost 9 years old, practically a grown up.

Minho had handled a whole week away from their farm the last time his uncle came through on his way to sell his metalwork in a nearby town—he could certainly handle one day and one night spent on the other side of the walls, in the inner city that surrounded the palace, opened to the surrounding village peasant-folk on one of the rare public events the royal family threw. 

They left three days before the prince's birthday, to make the journey from their small village to the city in time for the festivities. Minho rode beside his uncle on his rickety cart, small frame jostled and tossed into his sturdy side as it wheeled over rough roads, staring in wide-eyed curiosity for much of their travel. He marveled as they followed the river bank south to the city, crossing other villages and the dense forests that lined the path, drawing further and further from the only home he'd ever known. 

By early morning on the third day, they joined other travelers as they neared the city, splintering side roads merging into the main path that ran up to the city walls where the gated entrance to the inner city surrounding the king's palace was occupied with a long line of carts and carriages and single riders, more people than Minho had seen in all his life, bottlenecked as they trudged through the gate, slowed by questioning guards who managed the passage into the city.

"It's hard to believe that there's just as many people lined up at the Southern gate, too." Minho's uncle said, chuckling at his dropped mouth expression at the sheer number of people present. 

For the first time since leaving his family's quiet home, Minho felt a twinge of apprehension as they waited amongst the restless crowd spilling in, legs twitching nervously in the cart, rolling closer and closer to the tall stone walls that loomed above them. 

Guards milled around the people, their red, black, and purple uniforms weaving through the wagons and carriages and riders, stopping occasionally to check the passengers and their transports at random. One guard with patches of all different colors running down the arm of his tunic paused along their cart on Minho's side, eyes caught on the insignia carved into the metal plating that lined the sides of it, showing the brand of his uncle's shop. He looked over past Minho and called out. "I've seen your brand before. You do good work."

"Thank you." His uncle accepted easily, nodding to him. "It's an honor to be recognized for my craft."

The guard nodded back then tilted his head at Minho who had been surreptitiously leaning back from the man as he propped himself against their cart. "This your son?"

His uncle laughed lightly. "Oh, no, he's my sister's son. I'm just bringing him along for the celebration." He patted a stiff Minho on the shoulder teasingly. "He's agreed to pay his way by helping with my stall."

"Well," the guard said, looking back as the small group he'd broken off from waved him over, "I've had my eye on a few of your trinkets in the past. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for you two in the marketplace, perhaps this time I'll have a chance to spend my coin on something worthwhile." And with that, he tapped his knuckles on the side of the cart over the insignia twice and turned to rejoin the patrol. 

It was approaching midday when they finally reached the gate, undergoing one final check of their papers before being ushered through the thick stone wall. A large clearing just past the gate held a batch of the people who had passed before them, some whom Minho recognized seeing disappear behind the gate over an hour ago. 

His uncle hummed a tune as he confidently weaved their cart through the maze of confused and lost visitors to reach a small side road that cut off of the main street sharply. Following the path, he came to a similarly sparsely populated inn, pulling up to the front of the establishment and hopping down to tie off his horse, patting it as it drank from a trough.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go." Minho hopped down from his perch, grabbing his satchel and rounding the cart to tug his uncle toward the inn. Excitement reverberated through him, his voice breathless in anticipation as he urged him away from the horse. "The faster we check in, the faster we can get to the fun stuff!" 

Minho squirmed impatiently as his uncle greeted the innkeeper warmly and settled their room for the night, struggling to remain polite to their host through the whole affair. The second their bags were set down, he was back to pulling his uncle away, hopping in place with an exasperated pout when he showed no rush.

"The festival will still be there if I take 2 minutes to change my clothes and freshen up, Minho." He said with an equally exasperated sigh, reaching out to tweak Minho's nose when it scrunched up to join his pout of displeasure. "You know what? Maybe you should do the same because—" He paused to glance around the room twice, then leaned in conspiratorially, cupping a large hand around Minho's ear, and whispered, "—you stink."

If the last words hadn't sent Minho into peals of laughter, the meaty fingers digging into his side and tossing him up in the air would have pulled the delighted shrieks from him.

"Come on." His uncle hoisted him up under one arm, struggling to maintain a firm grip and demeanor as Minho giggled in his hands. He smiled down at him and said, "I think you've been a good enough sport this trip. We can spend a little time enjoying ourselves before setting up the booth, how does that—"

"Yes!" Minho scurried down and resumed his tugging, and his uncle laughing behind him the whole way out of the inn.

The street had become denser in the short while they'd been inside, people and horses and wagons of all kinds still flooding in from the gates. Minho held tight to his uncle's hand as they weaved through the ever growing crowd, heeding his mother's far off instructions. 

Some vendors had begun setting up shop, choosing to enrapture the visiting hoards by the city's entrance, wafting the scent of delicious savory foods and baked treats and candies up to mingle in the air, and enrapture they did. Lines and huddles formed around the booths, crowds pushing to draw closer to the enticing smells. 

In the distance, a horn set off a great blare, sounding a brass cry louder than the voices of all the people surrounding them, louder than anything Minho had ever heard before, besides the rumble of thunder during a particularly frightening summer storm. 

The crowds seemed to understand its meaning, including his uncle, who leaned down close to shout over the noise, "It's the palace horn! It's introducing the royal family, the festival has officially begun!"

Minho looked around with wide eyes as the people around them responded to the horn, the long push of it still hanging in the air when another cry sounded from it, ringing the sky with a deep tinny blast, and exciting the crowd even further. People began to move quickly, streaming up the street to where Minho could just barely see the palace standing tall on the hill through the rush of bodies pushing and pulling, jostling him away from his uncle, both struggling to keep their grip.

"Minho!" 

A particularly hard shove from a tall man who did not look down to see Minho standing before him broke their tenuous connection, sending Minho falling back into the hoard just as yet another cry rang from the horn.

Minho recoiled, hands sealing over his ears as he stumbled out of the stampede, falling backwards blindly until he felt the hard press of a building against his spine. Whipping his head to the side, he saw the edge of the stone structure a few feet from him, and a small ways further, the side of another building. Unthinking, he scuttled sideways to the gap, sticking to the wall as close he could to avoid the exuberant crowd in the street, and ducked between the two buildings. 

The space was narrow, forming a long alley that was the perfect width for a small child to spread their arms out in, and not much else, besides loose stones and trash lining the dirty walls. The sunlight, slightly past it’s highest point, barely reached the grounds of it, casting jagged shadows on the walls from the scalloped roof of the second building. Minho inched his way along the length of the wall until the sound of the celebrations were muffled, echoing faintly with the ringing in his ears. 

He slumped against the hard stone, chest heaving from adrenaline and the exhaustion of lingering fear, harsh breath breaking Minho's voice as he whispered to himself. “Mama's gonna wring my neck.” 

He thought of her stern face and warnings, wary of letting her only son out of sight, of his uncle's hand slipping out of his, and let out a half-choked sob.

"Are you lost, too?"

Minho screamed. The small voice that spoke screamed back, and for a moment as the alley filled with their yells, it felt as though he was in the fray of festival-goers once again, loud and disorienting. 

He scrambled for something to protect himself from the voice, grabbing a stick of the ground and brandishing it, shaking. “W-who are you?” He peered hard into the dim, trying to identify where the question came from.

A little ways down, against the wall of the second building, a hunched figure that Minho had initially thought to be a pile of cloth or strangely shaped chunk of rock stood up and revealed itself to be a boy, even smaller than him, the sun reflecting of the dried tear-tracks running down his face, leaving lines in the dust that covered him head to toe. He was wearing quite fancy clothes, Minho noticed, as the boy inched forward carefully and passed a patch of light, fancier than he had ever seen in real life. A coat, long and patterned and colorful (underneath the dirt), tied with a sash at his waist and falling just above his high-laced boots—special dress for a special occasion, it seemed.

"Sorry," the boy said, sniffling, "I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Minho paused in his best threatening stance, breathing slow to ease his racing heart. “You didn’t scare me," he bluffed, still clutching the stick, "I was just...surprised."

The boy glanced back and forth between his face and the stick, arms wrapping tight around his middle. “Ok...Still. Sorry.”

“It’s fine." 

The two boys simply stared at each other for a moment, curious but cautious. Minho squirmed in the silence and finally broke it. "Why are you crying?”

The boy's eyes widened, and his hands flew to his face, hastily wiping at the dried tears. "I’m not!" He rubbed his cheek sullenly. "Why are  _ you _ crying?”

“I’m not!" Minho swiped at his face discreetly to make sure, sighing when his hand came back dry. He looked back at the small, unfrightning frame of the boy and slowly lowered his stick. 

"I just—I lost my uncle." Minho began. "I wasn't supposed to let go of his hand. I was supposed to stick right next to him the whole time, but it's so  _ loud  _ out there, too loud, with too many people, more people than in our  _ whole village _ , and—and—" His face crumpled, and he fell against the wall behind him, the impact of his back hitting the surface forcing out a sob. "My hand just slipped out. I don’t know how to find him again, and if I can’t find him, I won’t ever be able to get back home." The stone scraped painfully as Minho slid down it, legs giving out, dropping hard to the ground and curling up.

The boy took a halted step forward in the corner of his eye, then approached him hesitantly until he was crouched an arm's length away from him. "I could try to help you find him?”

Minho looked up from where his head had been buried in his knees. “Do you live in the city?” The sea of carts and wagons and riders who had entered the city alongside him and his uncle flashed in his mind. 

The boy paused, then nodded. “Well, yes, I do, but… I’ve never really been outside home before." He turned to rest against the same wall, copying Minho's posture. "This is the first day I’ve been out." He waited a beat again before lowering his voice and saying, "The people scared me, too.”

Minho sniffled, muttering, “I’m not scared." He looked at the boy up close for the first time. He had a pointy looking chin with round cheeks—one pushed out further now for being squished against his knee—and a sad look in his eyes. "What’s your name?”

It took awhile for an answer to come, but the boy eventually said, “My family calls me Binnie. What’s yours?”

“My parents call me Lee Know!" Minho sat up straighter, feeling a little brighter to have a distraction. "That’s not my actual name, but our family name is Lee and they like to say that I always know everything, so that’s why they call me that. Are you dressed up for the prince’s birthday?”

Binnie retreated a bit, the tiny smile that had formed at Minho's nickname dimming. 

“Yes." He said, shortly. Pushing his lips into a purse and staring at his hands, he sighed. "I wish there wasn't such a big festival, I didn't want one.”

“Why does that matter?" Asked Minho, bewildered. "It’s the prince’s birthday, not yours." He leaned in to squint at him through the dark and dust. "How old are you anyways? You’re tiny.”

Binnie let out an indignant sound. “I’m not that small! And I’m turning 8 today.” He said haughtily.

“So it is your birthday! Wow. You were born on the same day as the prince.” Minho couldn't imagine sharing his birthday with a member of the royal family. It must feel like the whole kingdom is celebrating  _ your  _ birthday, he thought. Or, perhaps, that everyone had forgotten it.

“Yeah…"

Minho watched as he curled tighter into himself and quickly said, "I’m 8, too, but I’ve been 8 for  _ ages _ . My birthday’s only a couple moons away, and then I’ll be 9!" He puffed up his chest, grinning. "I’m practically a whole year older than you.”

Binnie pouted at him. “Everyone’s older than me." He paused, titling his head to the side. "Well, everyone except for my friend, Felix, he’s younger by one year." A brief smile passed over his face, before a bitter expression chased it off. "But he’s moving away soon, his older brother, too, and then I won’t have  _ any _ friends my age to play with.”

“I can be your friend?" 

Binnie shook his head at Minho's easy offer, voice. "You’re gonna leave, too, though, once we find your uncle.”

Minho gasped. "I forgot." Lip caught between his teeth and chewed nervously, he traced his worries out loud, voice growing distressed again. "Do you think he’s looking for me right now? Or maybe he’s forgotten all about me?"

"I’m sure he’s looking for you,” said Binnie, tentatively reaching out to pat his shoulder, stiff, but comforting.

Minho leaned into the hand instinctively, allowing his new not-friend to soothe him for a moment, before a thought struck him. "Binnie?"

The boy shook himself out of his hard stare at the opposite wall and blinked up at him. "Yeah?"

"Who’s looking for you? You’ve been hiding since before I even got here.”

His small body seemed to deflate a little, and he shrugged, flicking pebbles at the stone in front of them. "My caregivers, probably, or our guards. Maybe my parents, too. I—" He broke off, looking to the side, seeming embarrassed. "I ran away from them, from the celebration. They’ll probably be mad.” He trailed off in a mutter.

“Why'd you run away?"

He shrugged, noncommittal. "Same as you, I suppose. It was too loud, I wanted to go somewhere quiet."

Minho frowned a bit, guilt pinching at the corner of his mind that remembered the promise to his mother. "I wasn't trying to run off, I was supposed to help Uncle with his stall. He came all this way to sell his metalwork, and now he's probably spending all his time looking for me instead."

The alley fell silent.

Minho looked out to the sliver of the world that shone through the gap between the two buildings for the first time in a few minutes. The street he had run in from was largely empty by now, the crowd having moved their revelries up through the city. Few merchants who had elected to set up shop outside the marketplace were left behind, cleaning trampled produce and counting the profits from their sold festival snacks and wears. 

A man flitted into sight as Minho watched the happenings blankly , no broom or coin in hand, who made him stiffen up against the stone in shock. He was joined by another familiar figure, a royal guard, on the opposite side of the street, swinging his head back and forth as if searching for something or someone, shaking it occasionally at his companion before running his hands over his face, his dejected form pacing along the street, in and out of view.

"Binnie. Binnie, look! That's him, that's my uncle!" 

Minho scrambled to his feet without a second thought, running to the edge of the buildings and onto the edge of the street. He stumbled momentarily when he reached the end of the buildings, blinded by direct sunlight after hiding in the shadows for so long. As he squinted, blinking hard against the brightness, he heard a shout.

"Minho!"

Arms wrapped around his frame at the waist, hoisting him up in the air, legs dangling at his uncle embraced him tightly. Minho huffed out a laugh of stunned relief, throwing his own arms over broad shoulders.

"Oh, I'm so glad I found you." His uncle whispered harshly to him, sounding choked, though it was Minho who struggled to breathe in his grip. "All I could think was how badly your mother was going to kill me for letting you out of my sight. God above, I was so scared." He finally released Minho to the ground again, keeping a tight hold on his wrist this time as he looked him over. "Are you hurt? You're filthy! Where were you all this time?"

At that, Minho remembered his new friend, forgotten in the excitement and joy of finding his uncle again. He pointed out the alleyway with his free hand. "I hid in there when the crowd pushed us apart. But I wasn't alone! There was another boy hiding in there, too." 

His uncle approached the alley cautiously, leaning in halfway and scanning what he could see in the dark. "And where did this boy go?"

Minho squirmed out of the vice hold, zipping under his arm and around his side, and peered into the darkness with him. No movement. He inched his way back into the space for a closer look, searching hard in the far back of it, only to deflate when the second look revealed the same. The gap between the buildings stretched down a fair way, but Minho hadn't run all that far into it when he first entered, and Binnie had eventually migrated to join him. 

There was no sight of anyone up to the midpoint of the alley, as far as his eyes could tell, and no way to see past it.

"I guess he left when I ran out to you?" Minho posed, frowning. The other boy had offered to help locate his uncle with him, and Minho supposed that he had, in a way, by keeping him company as his uncle made his way back to him. It seemed, however, that Binnie had disappeared when that duty was fulfilled—like magic, if such a thing were to exist.

He wished he could have helped him in some way, too.

Minho's uncle looked at him with sympathetic eyes. "Well, maybe he found his family, too."

"Maybe." 

Regret twinged in his chest.  _ He should have at least looked over at Binnie before abandoning him, like the younger boy was so afraid of _ , he thought.  _ He should have said goodbye. _

"Come on, let's not sulk." One large calloused hand patted his head, his uncle pulling him in for another, shorter hug. "Let's catch up to the festival before all the fun stuff ends. We can hang back from the crowd this time, but there's no sense in coming all this way to miss the celebration."

Minho allowed himself to be pulled away from the alley entrance, throwing one last discontented look behind them, hoping Binnie, richly clothed and dirty, would magically reappear this time. All he saw on the street leading away from the palace square, however, was a group of disgruntled looking royal guards. From between the gaps in the armoured circle, he could only just make out that there was a figure in the middle of the huddle. 

He glanced back and again as he and his uncle walked farther away, and saw another man, finely dressed, but scholarly-looking—certainly not another guard—speedily approach the group and squeeze into the center as well. The recognizable sound of a harsh scolding floated out through the air, but they had walked so far from the group that the words were indistinguishable.

"Come on, Lee Know." His uncle tugged on his hand teasingly, gently nudging him to look forward as he walked. "There's one vendor in the city who makes the best dumplings I've ever tasted—let's see if he's still open for business today."

Minho finally turned around, forgetting the strange situation behind him to feel at his suddenly unbearably empty stomach. "Can we get some of that candy hair stuff you got me on your last trip, too?"

"If we hurry up before they run out, I'll even buy you an extra box for the trip home." His uncle said, grinning. A barking laugh rang out as Minho overtook him and began tugging him faster—not doing much against his great stature, but his uncle graciously allowed him to pull him along. 

~

Minho ducked behind the kitchen door, careful to avoid casting shadows that would be seen underneath it on the other side, crouching low to press his ear against the grain. He held his breath for a moment as he scanned for any sound seeping through the thin wood. The low voices he was searching for were imperceptible at first, but within a minute they were rising, growing louder and more agitated.

"We only have so much. The farm has been fickle for these past years, but this last one has been the worst in a long time."

"I can help you. With this new position, you won't have to rely on just the farm!"

"It's not—" A sigh. "It's not only that. Already, we have been rationing our leftovers, the things we can't sell, the things that we have to squirrel away for the sake of eating at all."

An agitated grunt. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Where was the time? The occasion? Every visit of yours brings him so much joy, how could I weigh that down with talk of how we starve for him, how even that might not be enough to fill his stomach soon?"

Silence.

"I could...take him with me." A pause, broken by a humorless laugh. "In an awful sort of way, it works perfectly—the king and queen are looking for a companion for their son, a manservant to act as a friend for him, of sorts."

The clanging of a ladle in a pot stops.

"It's a good position. He'd be able to earn for himself and eat well, sleep in decent quarters. And I can keep an eye on him easily."

The ladle starts up again, faster, more vivacious, stew sloshing and metal ringing over the rest of the words. Minho leaned in further to hear better, pressing harder, harder against the flimsy door. In a second taken to adjust his balance as he hunched, he overshot completely. Flailing his arms wildly to try and push away from the kitchen, but ultimately succeeding only in hitting the door with a stray limb and swinging it wide open, he fell neatly in a pile on the floor.

His mother shrieked in surprise, his uncle yelped something much less innocuous. Minho pushed himself to sit up on the ground sheepishly, glancing up between them as shock drained from their faces and was replaced by an overgrowing sadness. 

"You heard all of that." The question wasn't a question in his uncle's blunt tone.

Minho nodded slowly anyway, hesitant to reveal just how long he'd be eavesdropping, but more disconcerted by their conversation now that he could see the grimaces the topic brought over them.

His mother shut her eyes tight at that and turned back to the pot, but didn't begin stirring again. Her shoulders shook as she stood facing away from the two of them, hands coming up to muffle her tearful gasps. 

His uncle put a large hand over her shoulder and squeezed, before turning to Minho and offering his other hand, lifting him up to his feet and brushing him off. “Well,” he began, “what do you think about it? Living with me in the city?”

That first trip to the city flashed through Minho’s mind—the uncertainty of the overwhelming atmosphere, the unfamiliarity of being surrounded by so many people who  _ hadn’t _ known him since birth, the undeniable excitement that the festival with its colors and foods and novelty had embedded in him. Despite his harrowing first experience, Minho had been quite taken with the palace city, begging his uncle to take him on his next visits to no avail, and extracting any tale he could when his mother refused him travel out of fear of another incident. 

To live in the city was an option that had never crossed his mind, not as a real option, not for him. He was happy at home, truly. But as he retraced their hushed conversation in his mind, he saw that the choice was already there. 

If he stayed, his parents would continue to starve. Leaving meant they had a better chance.

"I'll go."

His mother released a pained whine, shoulders hunching over as she cried harder. Minho rushed to stand, slowing abruptly as he reached her, unsure what to do. 

"Mama, it's okay. I'll go to the palace, I can work, I'll be fine."

She only let out another wail, half-covered by her hands, but powerful enough to weaken her legs. Minho looked wildly at his uncle, who held her steady, pulling her into an embrace and whispering comforting words that he could hardly make out.

"...be fine...look at him…strong boy...take care…" 

Minho stayed frozen in his outreaching stance until his mother's cries slowed and hiccupping breaths calmed. She turned, wiping her face frantically before fully facing him. 

One deep, steadying inhale, and she said, "Minho, sweetheart, it won't be for long. I promise." She knelt to the floor and pulled him in tight, his arms pinned to his side, but Minho tangled the loose fabric of her dress with his fingers as best he could in return. "We will miss you  _ so _ much, your father and I, both."

A burn rose quick over his face, stinging behind his eyes, and Minho blinked tears away vigorously as they clutched each other. The heavy weight of his uncle's hand settled on his head for a moment then slid around him, then his mother, until he was enveloping both of them—a triumvirate of sorrow.

Three short weeks later, the harvest had been picked for the season, and Minho stood before his home once again—his uncle loading bags of packed food and clothing into the cart behind him, his mother fussing with his clothes as she issued warnings and wiped watery eyes, and his father standing still and silent beside her, a hand on her shoulder and one occasionally reaching out to pat heavily on Minho's hunched ones.

It had been seventeen moons since he last visited the palace city, four since he stopped asking to join his uncle on his trips. 

The feeling was strange this time. Excitement still sent shivers throughout his body, turning his stomach in pleasant and odd ways, and his mind still raced with all the thoughts of what might await him there, but there was no delay to his apprehension. He felt it settling deep in his gut, seeped in from the tense air that surrounded this goodbye and the memories of how  _ big _ the city was, how small he felt walking the streets, inside the walls.

Minho clambered onto the wagon without his uncle's help this time, sitting still and absent as he waited for the large man to say his own farewells and join him. There was a moment of pause when they were both seated and ready, like everyone was waiting for someone else to finalize the deed and separate their family for who knew how long. 

Finally, his uncle lifted a hand off the reins and waved a short wave. "Goodbye for now, you two. I'll take good care of your boy."

Minho's father nodded at him, face still pinched and blank. His mother stepped up to the side Minho was sat on and gave him one last wet kiss on his cheek. 

"Both of you take care, alright? We'll miss you dearly, baby, but it won't be forever."

"Yes, mama."

She gave him a final squeeze and stepped back again, grabbing onto his father's arm instead.

"Okay, we're off now." His uncle said, and he snapped the reins and pulled the wagon away from their little farm, Minho's only home.

He watched and waved as they departed as long as he could see his parents, until they disappeared behind a line of trees.

"How are you holding up?

Minho paused before answering, pondering his own emotions as he rocked in his seat. He sighed. "This is for the best, I think. I'm sad and a bit scared, but...it helps the farm. And mama and dad." He brought his legs up to sit cross-legged on the wagon seat, wrapping his arms around his knees.

His uncle huffed out a short laugh. "Well. I guess you're handling this better than I expected, Lee Know." He reached over and rustled his hair, using the hold to move Minho's head to look at him, bending close to stare him straight in the eyes. "But if you ever start feeling overwhelmed, you got me, understand?" 

Minho smiled at him, nodding as best he could, and his uncle leaned in to headbutt him playfully in return.

As he watched a barely familiar path, he could only hope that this trip to the city would fare better than the last, and perhaps, bring him another friend—one that he swore to keep an eye on, this time.

_ And maybe _ , he thought,  _ if he was lucky, he might find an old one, too _ .

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! this update is quite a bit different from the other fics in this series so i'm eager to know what you thought about it. please leave a kudos/comment if you liked it, they are very much welcomed and appreciated!! <3


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